Nothing Too Earth Shattering
by Caspar Wilde
Summary: "Do you enjoy getting burnt, Sebastian?" he snarls, eyes flicking across Sebastian's face, studying it at such close quarters. "Is that why you insist on playing with fire?" Sebastian Moran has a confession to make. It's nothing too earth-shattering, he says, but Jim is less than pleased. MorMor. Rated M for Mansex. DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter 1

This story is cowritted with bethasaurusrex tumblr. She beautifully writes Sebastian while I write as Jim.

* * *

[Slight problem, boss. –SM]

[What have you done now, Moran? – JM]

[ Nothing too...earth shattering. I appear to have developed a weakness, so to speak. –SM]

[ You know how I feel about weaknesses, Sebastian. What is it? You'd better hope I can beat it out of you, or you're in trouble. – JM]

[ That's what I'm hoping for. I seem to be harbouring an attachment to someone. It should be stopped. This isn't good for me. –SM]

[Oh, that's simple enough. I'll kill them for you, that tends to force people into getting over it. Who is the accursed? – JM]

[ Come on, Jim. You're smarter than this. –SM]

[ Fair enough, I'm just stalling. You know I don't want to hear it, Moran. – JM]

[ And it's Sir, to you. – JM]

[ I need closure. I need to know just what's going on here. If you don't...whatever this is, then fine. I don't care. If there's something you're not telling me, then god damnit, I want to know. Don't make this hard for me. –SM]

[ Sir. –SM]

[ Of course there are things I'm not telling you. You didn't think you were my equal, did you? You work for me, and I am your boss. That is all this is. You know that as well as I. – JM]

[ Perhaps. But I'm the only one apart from them that's seen you. The real you. Does that count for nothing? –SM]

[ ...oh god. You're not...Not him. Not that jumped up detective. –SM]

[ Please don't say that. –SM]

[ What the hell are you implying, Sebastian? – SM]

[ Fuck it, I refuse to have this conversation via text, of all things. Come home. – JM]

[ Fine. On my way. If I can find a fucking cab. –SM]

[ Do you want me to send a car? – JM]

[ Of all things, I don't need your pity, /sir/. –SM]

[ You were the one whining. – JM]

Sebastian wrenches the keys out of his pocket, jamming them into the lock. It takes three tries for the crack shot to open the door, but he finally manages, laughing bitterly at the irony of it all. He makes his way into the sitting room, stopping when he catches sight of one James Moriarty, sat calmly on the couch with his back turned. 'So'. The word is more than just an announcement of his presence; it's a confession, an apology, a plea, all rolled into one

"Sit down, Sebastian," Jim murmurs without turning, voice superficially calm, and low, but with that dangerous edge of his. He is right on the verge of snapping, that much is obvious. It would not take much to push him over the edge; a few wrong words from the sniper would be enough to trigger him.

He knows it's a bad idea, that one should never provoke Jim, but his temper gets the better of him. He stalks round the room until he is in front of the smaller man, and sits on the low coffee table in front of him. He makes a show of sitting down, trying to prove just how much of a man he is. He knows it's not working, but he has to try. He's Sebastian Moran. He's not afraid. And so he looks Jim straight in the eyes, and refuses to break his gaze.

Jim raises his eyebrows, affecting a pretty perfect expression of boredom. That one he has, with his lips a little pursed and his brows lifted just slightly but his eyes semi-closed, dead of all and any motivation. That expression that makes him look like he could genuinely die of apathy at any given second.

He has that one down to a T.

"Talk to me, Sebastian." He says, tone still flat, steepling his fingers under his chin.

"Do I really need to? You know everything, you damned clever bastard," the sniper growled. "Everything. So just let me down here and now. Do it so it really hurts, so I can fucking feel it. Because you know what, Jim? I'm not going to wander around the streets of London pining after you like a love struck schoolgirl. So just get it over with, and let me be, and I'll find a new boss in about a month." Sebastian wonders when he started yelling, when his hands balled into fists. All he can focus on is Jim.

One eyebrow arches higher than the other. But Jim doesn't flinch, not even when Sebastian is all but screaming in his face. He just blinks slowly, rolls his neck so it cracks. Calm, a master of composure, even when the rest of the world is slipping. Especially when the rest of the world is slipping. "What would you have me do, hmn?" His tone is still the same, perhaps with just a hint of an edge. "You seem to have made up your mind already."

He's in danger now, he can tell. He could be in so much trouble just with one wrong word, and yet he doesn't care. Perhaps that's what he wants, to see a side of that man that he doesn't admire. "You know I can't have you do anything," he all but spits at Moriarty, "you're the boss. You make the rules. Why should I think anything would ever be different?"

"I don't know," he purrs, fully aware that it was a rhetorical question. "Why should you? What good did you think would come from telling me about this 'infatuation' of yours?" Jim's lip curls; finally, a demonstration of some actual emotion other than plain boredom. "Don't you think it would have been easier on you if you'd just taken yourself elsewhere when you realised, as you seem to have done perfectly well, that you couldn't possibly continue to work for me like this?" His voice is starting to rise now, twisting into a snarl. But still he doesn't move.

"Oh, but that's not true now, is it." Sebastian drops his head into his hands, runs his fingers over his puckered scars, before facing him again. "You'd have found me, Jim. If I'd left. You'd have found me and you'd have taken me back. And I'd have come back, because nothing would ever have been said and there'd still be a chance." He threw his arms out wide, exposing his torso. "Just slap a fucking collar on me, why don't you? I'd always come back. You could beat me and abuse me and fucking ruin me, but I'd always come back." He smiles, or grimaces, as it might be. "So do it. Ruin me. Let's see just how far you can push me."

Jim is still for several long moments, or perhaps several long hours, it's hard to tell. He just lets the silence that follows Sebastian's words ring throughout the room, ringing in their ears. Finally, when the tension surrounding them is actually practically palpable, he stands, slowly, raising himself to his full height, so that he is standing over Sebastian. Taller than him, for once. Sebastian's face at his waist-height. Then he slides his fingers through the sniper's wonderfully scruffy hair, pushing his head back, properly looming over him. He leans down, making his spine arch like some sort of insect. He brings their faces close together, inches apart from bumping noses. That sick smug grin twists his mouth. "You're quite the masochist, aren't you, Sebastian?" he growls.

He would come back with some cuttingly witty retort, push Jim away, sneer in his face...but god, he can't. Look at him. A trained killer, wound up and ready to spring like a tiger in a cage...and here he was, being held...not, not even held down...controlled by a little man in an expensive suit. His eyes flicked shut briefly as Moriarty's breath curled around his face. He'd been drinking. Not much, but it was there, that faint trace of alcohol. He tried to relax his body language, look up lazily, sanguinely, but it would never work. He's a fighter, not an actor. He couldn't win this even if he tried.

Jim leans closer, tilting his head so they don't smash noses but keeping his dark dangerous eyes fixed on Sebastian's feline ones, and it's clear then from his eyes that this is it, he's snapped. It's quite a subtle change this time, not like those days where he just suddenly flies off the hook and starts killing things. No, just a little shift, from cool calm clearness to something slightly clouded over, and it's obvious that he is someone quite different now. Someone who would have absolutely no qualms about snapping the sniper straight in half. "Do you enjoy getting burnt, Sebastian?" he snarls, eyes flicking across Sebastian's face, studying it at such close quarters. "Is that why you insist on playing with fire?"

Sebastian swallows noisily. Shit. He's let himself go too far. He's seen him like this before. Eyes narrowed slightly, lip curled in contempt. Any minute now, those fingers would tighten in his hair, and Jim would have him completely under control. If he hadn't been so wary of Jim right now, he would have chuckled. He's a goner now. There's nothing he can do. But he wants it quick, clean, as painless as can be. He doesn't want to be toyed with. He sets his jaw, eyes flashing, before he hooks his hands over the back of Jim's neck. Pulling him even closer to him, Sebastian smirks, drinking in the image of Jim's whole face, before rasping, "Perhaps it's not the burns, but the pyromania I enjoy, sir."

For Jim Moriarty that is about as close as it gets to dirty talk - less-than-subtle threats hidden under pretentious violent metaphors and twisted dripping tones, enunciated in a range of low growls that practically scrape the floor to high pitched whines that really don't even sound human. He makes one of those little growls as Sebastian lays hands on him; he's supposed to be the one in charge, and even something as little as that seems to him like the sniper is pushing his boundaries, fighting back just a bit. So of course he has to assert his dominance, and he has a brilliant idea of how to do just that. "Then enjoy this," he all but hisses, and then after what feels like forever he leans down and closes his teeth hard on Sebastian's bottom lip. It isn't a kiss. It's biting.


	2. Chapter 2

_"This will be my last confession,_

_'I love you' never felt like any blessing,_

_Whisper it like it's a secret,_

_Uttered to condemn the one who hears it". - Heavy In Your Arms by Florence and The Machine_

"Fuck." Sebastian snarls, the word being torn out of him by the scrape of Jim's teeth, the copper taste of blood. Knotting his fingers into the sleek, dark hair at the nape of his 'assailant's' neck, he pulls sharply, causing the grip on his lower lip to clamp tighter quite suddenly. And then Sebastian is pushing himself up, off the table, still entwined with Jim and Jim's limbs and ohgod, if he wasn't so furious, he'd be loving this right now. Sebastian has always been the larger of the two; the brawn, rather than the brains. It's now that he decides to use this to his advantage, stretching up to tower over Jim; hands still entangled in hair, foreheads still mashed against each other, his lower lip still caught in the same sick embrace. The only difference is that now, the two of them appear more equal. Even with his size and strength, Sebastian could never be the superior of the two; not Jim's superior, never. But now, as glares into Jim's clouded, almost feral eyes, he feels as if perhaps, he might just be able to hold his own.

The motion startles Jim a little but it's nothing he cannot easily take in his stride. His hands fly to Sebastian's shoulders; he hasn't a chance, really, of overpowering the man, but it's symbolic, he decides, applying just enough pressure to remind his sniper who exactly is boss. He tears at Sebastian's lip, irked by having his height used against him. Seb knows he can't win, so he should just accept that and let Jim do as he pleases. But of course it could never be that simple, and Jim enjoys the power struggle far too much. It makes things interesting. And he thrives on that.

He sucks, hard at his man's lip, smirking in a way that can't really be considered sane as the bitter tang of blood hits his tongue. Oh, it tastes like power, and is quite, quite delicious. Rather than standing taller, however, Jim decides to take more of that power by a different method. He is quite proud of being a sly bastard and flaunts it at every possible opportunity. So he slides his hands down from Sebastian's shoulders to his chest, where he takes fistfuls of his shirt, and then pulls him quite suddenly down onto the couch, trapping himself rather nicely underneath his tiger, tangling their limbs. He releases his lip and licks traces of blood from his own, smirking in the most antagonistic way possible. He can be such a little shit when he wants to be.

He's flung down on top of Jim, the both of them a muddled, tangled pile of limbs and heat and breathlessness. He feels the pressure on his lip release, and he's not sure whether he's grateful for the relief or pissed that Jim had taken his goddamned teeth off him. He looks down at the consulting criminal; pissed, definitely pissed. The bastard's just sitting there, Seb's blood on his lips, staining him like a peculiarly morbid lipstick... Damn him, it suits him. No, it doesn't just suit him, it's Jim all over. It's his Jim, his blood on his Jim. The thought makes him oddly possessive; not a good plan, there, Tiger, Jim's eyes seem to say. His eyes are saying everything, though it's difficult to focus on them when he swipes his tongue over his lips, cleaning up his mess.

That's when Seb gives up. He gives up trying to outsmart the man, he gives up this battle of wits, he just can't fucking take it anymore. Lunging for Jim's wrists, he pins them back behind his head, immobilising him. His nails dig into the soft, pale skin, leaving little half-moon scores, but Sebastian doesn't care. He just want to stop this game, this fucking game, to make Jim realise that he wasn't up for playing around. He glares into those dark eyes he's recently become acquainted with, and his breath hitches a little. There's that familiar smirk, the raised eyebrows. He doesn't know how he's done it, but Jim's got him. Panting heavily, not breaking eye contact even for a second, he becomes aware that he couldn't move; not even if he wanted to. Jim's in control; even pinned down against the couch, he's in control.

As his hands are strained above him, as the light pain of Sebastian's blunt nails stabs at his wrists, Jim gasps. For just a second, he is taken almost by surprise, and the sound is a soft pure breath before he catches himself and twists it into something different, something more sinister and obscene. A low rolling laugh, if it could be called a laugh, rumbling in his chest.

"It's so cute when you try to fight like that. And then you realise," he makes a soft sort of grunt, wriggling his hips underneath Sebastian's, "You realise it's useless, because I always win, and no matter what you do," he huffs out a breath, goes still for a moment, though his chest heaves with panting, "No matter what, you belong to me, Sebastian." He starts to giggle, borderline manic, a sound a madman would make. Apparently the whole situation is just hysterically funny to him. He is certainly enjoying himself, at least, loving the thrill of being physically weaker, physically vulnerable, but totally aware that he has Sebastian wrapped around his little finger. And oh, that control.

Vaguely he wonders just what he could make his little tiger do for him, how he could watch him dance. Although, right now he doesn't want anything too complicated. Well, it's kind of obvious what he wants. But just to ram his point home, Jim hooks his legs round Sebastian's waist, forcing him that little bit closer, and leans up to kiss him. It isn't quite like the biting of before, but just as violent, open-mouthed, all teeth and tongue.

Jim's lips smash into his, ravishing his mouth, laying claim to what was his. And it was his, Sebastian thought, because he'd never let anyone else unravel him like this. He briefly considered trying to pull away, to continue the battle for power between them...but he realised it would be useless. It would only irritate the smaller man, as they both knew who was in control here. If he got too sure of himself, however amusing Jim found the struggle, he would find himself pushed away, a few choice words hanging over their heads. And then where would the two of them be? The corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he felt the man under him try to stifle a quiet moan; his grip on his wrists tightens as he leans further in to him. Besides, he figured that if Jim could control him so without Sebastian turning completely violent on him, he'd probably earned the right to...what was it he'd said? 'Own' him.

There was nothing gushy or romantic about the way they were pressed against each other, but that's just how he wanted things; rough, violent, Jim. It wouldn't have been right if he'd suddenly become quiet and submissive. No. It wouldn't be him, and that wasn't the man Sebastian wanted. He pulled back from him, leaning down to mouth his neck. "Still so adamant..." he panted, grazing choice spots on Jim's pale flesh with his teeth, "about me calling you sir?" With the last word, he latched onto his throat with his teeth; not quite hard enough to draw blood, not quite hard enough to imply he was trying to take control, but enough to show that Sebastian wasn't going soft on him, to remind him that even though Jim was boss, he was still the second most dangerous man in London.

As contrary as it may seem, Jim loves it when Sebastian is so rough with him, so superficially dominant. He just adores it, the display of such power from the man above him - when they both know who's really in charge. Such a thrill to witness that power, and know it's his to do with whatever he wants.

He throws his head back when Sebastian breaks their liplock, welcoming the heady rush of air back into his lungs. His breath comes in short shallow gasps, punctuated by high-pitched, manic giggles. He's really up in the fucking clouds now.

"Oh, don't be a fool, Sebastian-" he starts, only to cut himself off, inhaling sharply as Sebastian's razor straight teeth bite down into his flesh. Now, that's really playing dirty. Practically of their own accord Jim's hips roll upwards, spine arching, pressing his body against the powerful musculature of the man above him. He moans then, unashamedly loud and wanton, closing his eyes. A grin that is crooked in every sense of the word pulls at his slack lips, and he revels in the beautifully twisted

Seb smirks around his morsel of Jim's skin; it's the first time he's ever seen the man even close to being undone, and it really is delightful. It's better than delightful, it's fucking /delicious/. Such a shame about his suit, though. Not that it didn't do anything for him, but all the buttons looked so incredibly tedious and fiddly, and he knew Jim would be pissed if he tore it in the heat of the moment. If he'd been wearing a normal shirt, he'd have had it off him within seconds. He supposes it'll come off soon enough, and the thought of Jim undressing for him is far from unpleasant.

Releasing his grip to reveal a bold red mark of the pale skin, Sebastian shifted back up to Jim's face, gaze honing in on a smear of blood his tongue had missed earlier. He ran his tongue over it, all the while keeping eye contact with the man underneath him. Perhaps he was teasing him a little now, not necessarily a wise move, but god, it would pay off in the end. Raising his hips slightly, just enough that they were out of reach, he laughed darkly. "Fool, am I?" He leaned over so his breath was ghosting the skin behind Jim's ear, disturbing the fine, dark hair that lay beyond it. "I don't think so. Would the great James Moriarty ever let a fool come this close to him?" he breathed huskily, taking Jim's ear between his teeth. He didn't bite down, though, not yet; he wanted to prolong this.

Jim finds he has forgotten what he was going to say, mind reeling from the almost overwhelming sensations Sebastian is evoking in him. It's so bizarre, so unfamiliar to be on the verge of actually losing control - he's been out of control before, when he was younger, hurting himself and other people (particularly other people) before he learned to reign in his mind, master what he could do, focus it into meticulously calculated destruction - but then it was always in a rage of passionate anger. This is so different. Passionate, yes, very much so, and Sebastian is full of anger, he thinks, but this is actually exquisite. It's hard to put his finger on why, exactly, what with his brain starving for oxygen, blood rushing to other areas of his body instead. It is probably something to do with surrendering to another person in a way he has never done before - no, not surrendering, he doesn't surrender. But it's about as close as he ever has and ever will get to it. Rather than being the one on top, the one giving - for once he is on the bottom, submitting to whatever Sebastian will do to him, and yet still in control. It's wonderfully complex and yet wonderfully simple. So good to submit for once, to forget to think.

"Oh, you know me so well, Sebastian," he manages to answer, breathily, squirming underneath the stronger man. Gods, this isn't teasing, this is torture. He loves it, arches his spine, struggling against Sebastian's grip in the full knowledge that it won't do any good. He doesn't want it to, doesn't want to be released. He just likes to play.

Sebastian's spine raises in response to Jim's, leaving a gap of no more than an inch between them. It feels like a mile, and what he wouldn't give to be pressed on top of him right now...but he knows Jim wouldn't appreciate that. He'd scold him for giving in too quickly, arch his eyebrows like he always did when Sebastian disappointed him. Besides, it would be interesting to see how close he could come to making him beg...James Moriarty would never beg for anything, but the thrill of the idea sent a shiver down his spine, making his heart race. He knows well enough that to make him wait for it would be more than worth his while.

He chooses not to respond to his boss, instead fixing his gaze onto his cool, dark eyes. Except they weren't his eyes. They had dilated to almost their full extent, filled with excitement, want, near insanity. They were startling, unexpected; we would have commented on them if he hadn't been so caught up in the moment. Holding eye contact, he lowered his head, nipping areas of Jim's chest where his shirt had opened. God, it wasn't enough. Not for him, and not for the man underneath him whose fingers had already began to twitch. He nipped and sucked furiously, then at last swiped a clean line up his collarbone with his tongue. Fuck, that was good. If he had wanted Jim before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now.

Of course Jim wouldn't beg, would never lower himself to that. At least, not verbally. His body's actions, however.. well, he's not entirely in control of those. His hands have clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms to raise red welts similar to those littering his wrists, almost hard enough to bleed. There will be bruises there in the proverbial morning, and the thought excites him no end. How long will they last, he wonders, days, weeks? And he'll only have to apply the slightest of pressure to his wrists and be able to feel Sebastian's hands on him again. The thought makes him shiver, whining high-pitched between his teeth.

Partly, he's play-acting, manipulating the other, trying to see how Sebastian can hold out before he just gives in and fucks him til he can't see (another shiver). Partly. But mostly, it's real; the lust and twisted masochism are real, he can feel it, heat coiling in his stomach. He thinks this must be how Sebastian feels when he really needs a cigarette, only multiplied in the extreme. Craving. He craves Sebastian.

He holds his breath as Sebastian's mouth works over the smooth tender flesh inside the V of his shirt, eyes rolling back in his head. Fuck, he's going to be covered in bruises from tiger teeth by the time they're through. Perfect. Perhaps, later, he would mark Sebastian too. Permanently. His mind starts to wander off on a tangent, rolling through his options- but then he's distracted by that tongue. Oh, my. The things that tongue could do .. "Sebastian," he growls, voice rough, "Come back here." He pushes his hips up, trying to urge him up. He wants to taste that tongue again.

Seb smirked. That was practically music to his ears. He journeyed back up Jim's chest, as slowly and as arduously as possible, making sure to trail his tongue behind him on his merry way. Fuck, this is killing him. If things were simpler, he'd have had Jim, fucked him into the floor by now. But no, this was Jim Moriarty, the king of complexity, and somehow, that made it all the sweeter. He can see the sweat rolling down his brow, see how his eyes roll back into his head every so often. He was loving this, the twisted little bastard. And so was Sebastian. The noises that were coming out of Jim...ohgod, they drove him wild, sending an electric current right through him.

He hovered centimeters above Jim's face, just out of reach, just to really make him squirm. Oh, this has to be the best game Sebastian's ever played. He relented a little, leaning down and rolling his hips into Jim's arched figure... Shit. Shit, that was a mistake, such a big mistake, because it reminds him just how terribly wired he is. For a split second, he loses it, groaning deeply at the sudden, glorious friction. As the last of it rumbles through his chest, he looks down, gauging Jim's reaction. He might very well just have blown the whole thing...

And squirm he does, stretching, leaning up to snap his teeth at Sebastian's bruised lower lip, just grazing it, his own lips pulled back in what is almost a snarl. He almost forgets himself entirely..

Oh, but then.. tut, tut. Sebastian is getting ahead of himself. The sensation, he can't deny, is fucking glorious - almost good enough for him to overlook the mistake if only he'd do it again, ohpleasedoitagain. But he can't, cannot let that slide without losing his position as the Boss, the Dominant, the One in Control.

So he pauses, holding the eye contact. His are wide, pupils blown and so dark that it's hard to tell where his pupils end and his irises begin. He really does have black eyes. Narrowing them into a glare, he flicks his tongue across his own lips, taking a second to catch his breath.

"Watch yourself, Sebastian," he hisses, voice low and so, so dangerous. "Don't forget who's Master here." It's a threat, that much is obvious. Sebastian, he finds, is so easy to threaten, especially now.

His eyes widen as Jim speaks, the syllables rolling off his tongue, hooking into him like tiny, tiny barbs. For the first time today, he is completely stuck, totally unsure of himself. Technically, if he wanted to, he could just carry on, reach out and take Jim and have him as he pleased. And he wants to. He needs to, ohgod, it's a need. This is what Jim can do to him; he'll wind him up, get him going, but then with just a flick of his silver tongue, he'll have him straining against the restraints of his most filthy, carnal desires.

He thinks things over for a minute before leaning over to kiss Jim again. No, no that wasn't it at all. He was leaning over, certainly, but it was the criminal underneath him who was seizing his mouth, laying claim to what was his. The frustration of it all is driving him crazy, driving him to release his grip on Jim's wrists, dragging his nails down the smooth flesh. He can't help but utter a quiet moan into the other's mouth, before he wonders if that's allowed or not.

Jim sort of sighs softly as Sebastian's nails scrape down his skin, leaving ragged red welts. He feels the skin tear, a harsh, stinging pain. It's almost an itch; he wants to keep scratching, keep tearing until he breaks through the flesh and really bleeds. But, oh, no, he suppresses that urge. Bleeding can come later. Right now, he has a tiger to put in his place.

He's the one doing the kissing, they both know that. Jim is kissing Sebastian. Sebastian is being kissed. They are both giving and taking and Jim is taking the most, like he's sucking out Sebastian's very soul as he sucks blood from his broken lips.

Then he moans.

Oh, that sound is one of the most incredibly erotic things he has ever heard. Hands now free, Jim shifts to twist his fingers into Sebastian's hair, scraping his skull, pulling his hair, hard enough to hurt. But he's not pulling him away, oh god no. In fact he kisses harder, opening his mouth wide and invading the other's mouth with his tongue, tasting his teeth. It's violent and obscene and sinfully beautiful.

Feeling rather than seeing the change come over Jim, he twists slightly so as to give him a little more access. He feels his nails rake over his scalp, dragging him in closer, until he's almost burning from the heat of Jim's gaze. He lets his tongue maps out the interior of his much violently; once, twice, and then he gives up counting, feeling himself being dragged under even further. His hands scrabble on the smooth material of the couch, clawing at it to try and find somewhere, anywhere, that he can latch on to. He gives up, but has a better idea, sliding his hands underneath Jim's untucked shirt. It's too tight for him to really get at anything, but he digs his nails into the sides of the criminal's hips, holding him in place rather than pinning him down. Jim's really getting into the kiss now; teeth smashing together, tongues entwining, parting, exploring. Sebastian growls a little under his breath. He doesn't think he'll be able to play the game for too much longer before he has to take home his winnings.

It makes Jim smirk, just a little, to have Sebastian scrabbling for purchase on the couch. A brief moment of helplessness. Oh, and then his fingers on his skin - that's good, the nails again; he wants to be covered in bruises. In fact he'll be quite disappointed if Sebastian doesn't end up drawing blood. He rolls his hips, arching his spine in an elegant curve, just for the sake of 'fighting back', rebelling just to be a bitch. Not that he wants Sebastian to let go. Oh gods, please don't let go, don'teverletgo. He's begging in his head and it kind of makes him hate himself a little but that doesn't matter, just so long as Sebastian never works out that perhaps he might be a little bit more in control than he thinks. That wouldn't do. Feeling like he ought to assert some dominance, Jim twists his fingers harder into Sebastian's hair, and jerks his head back, forcefully breaking their kiss. He gives one last quick bite to his bottom lip, twisting the delicate skin between his teeth to break it, then moves down to his throat. He noses into the crook where Sebastian's neck meets his shoulder, taking a second just to breathe in the smell of him. Tobacco-smell seems to linger in his hair no matter how long he goes without a smoke. And as much as Jim complains about it, he loves that smell.

That's starting to sound likes sentimentality. Better fix that. So he bites him, actually bites him like he wants to take a chunk out of his flesh, like he's playing a vampire. It's perhaps a little disturbing, but then, this is James Moriarty.

He grunts as Jim rolls his hips; he can't have any unexpected contact again, he's not going to make the same mistake. He grips his hips harder, if that's even possible, blunt nails nearly slicing into him, forcing his body back down. Ohgod, it's practically killing him having to hold back. What's he playing for again? His mind is foggy, unclear... The criminal rips his head back, tearing their lips apart. Shit, his bottom lip would be ruined tomorrow. He'd have some serious explaining to do if he ran into anybody. He kept his eyes on Jim, watching him, trying to work out what he would do next, almost shaking in anticipation as he lowered his head.

His eyes widen slightly as he watches Jim's eyes slide shut, as he takes a moment to breathe. Was he...? Did he just smell him? Sebastian growls. That little shit... This really is all just a game for him, isn't it? He knows exactly how to toy with what little emotions the sniper has left, and he does so so infuriatingly well. And then Jim is back, eyes snapping open, teeth cutting into his flesh. He snarls, really snarls this time, feeling it erupt from the bottom of his stomach as he throws his head back. God, he's never going to be able to go back to fucking women after this. This was wrong, so very wrong, but he's loving it, as pearly white teeth glisten with red, ripping into him. He knots a hand into the back of Jim's hair so he has to stretch, really stretch, to keep his teeth in him.

Jim hisses viscerally at the pain spiking across his scalp, but it just makes him bite harder. He feels the skin break under his teeth, then pulls back just a little with a soft moan as warm coppery liquid bleeds from the wound he's made into his mouth. Oh god, that's amazing. Such a thrill - he can taste the power, taste Sebastian's very life force as he drags his tongue over the bite marks. It's really quite the lovebite.

Jim makes a breathless "heh heh" laugh as he examines the mark he's left; a symbol of ownership, possession. He leans in and presses his lips against the rapidly blossoming purple-reddish bruise. Straining against the grip Sebastian has in his hair, but he makes a point of ignoring that, drifting unnaturally gentle kisses over and over the vicious mark. It looks marvellously painful, and far from subtle. He's proud of himself. It won't be fading for a while; Sebastian will have a nice little keepsake, something to remember this particular escapade by.. as if he'll need a reminder.

Fuck, that stings. He can feel Jim's teeth slide out of his skin, flesh oozing with fresh blood. It's not a collar, not quite a brand, but it might as well be. Jim had marked him as his own, claimed him as a master claims a slave, and he'd be surprised if it healed up in the next week or so. Not that he wanted it to. He relished the thought of walking past Jim every so often in a shirt low enough to show it off; oh, that would be lovely, watching him as he remembered, reacted to what he'd done to Sebastian...and what he was eventually going to do to him.

He gasps a little as Jim's lips glide across his poor, torn skin. The care and gentleness with which he does it is surprising, and wonderful, and he doesn't want him to stop, ohpleasegod don't let him stop. He leans down into his mouth, desperate for whatever fleeting tenderness he could catch from the criminal. Maybe he's being too sentimental, but the tenderness is worth far more than the rough, violent struggle. As much as he's enjoying it, he knows that however gentle Jim is now, it's not going to last.

Jim's lips wander from the mark he's just made further up Sebastian's neck, mapping out the pronounced blue veins there with the tip of his tongue. His teeth graze over the smooth hot skin, but only lightly. Nothing like the violent biting of moments ago.

But of course it doesn't last long. Jim is fully aware of what he's doing, the twisted semblance of affection. He's doing it because he knows it's what Sebastian wants, really wants despite the affected violence. Sebastian's never been one to really hide; he's usually been honest, sometimes to the point of brutality. Never had anything much to hide, maybe, and if he did he would tend to dodge the truth. In that respect as in many others he and Jim are very different; the consulting criminal is a master liesmith. He knows all of Sebastian's tells. Can read him like the metaphorical book.

Yes, Jim knows perfectly well what Sebastian wants, what he needs, and is giving him just a taste of it, just a hint - the manipulative little shit that he is.

He plants a ghost of a kiss just behind Sebastian's ear, breath tickling the skin. But his fingers are still fisted tightly in his hair, reminding him where he stands.

The change in Jim's actions is sudden, unexpected. He shudders as he works his way up his neck, across his face, kissing him on possibly his most sensitive spot, the one that sends shivers down his spine. He couldn't have known that. And yet, it's Jim. Of course he would have known how to make Sebastian weak. Jesus, he needs this, would kill for this, but goddamnit, throughout it all, Jim is filling him with doubt. As much as he wanted to simply take the man underneath him there and then, if he was simply going to be a quick fuck to pass the time, he'd much rather the criminal stop toying with him and just let him get to it.

"Jim..." he whispers huskily, pulling his head back to try to meet his eyes. "Don't. Fuck, I want it, and you know I want it, but not like this; not used against me." He tried to keep his tone firm, almost aggressive, but he knew he had failed already. "I'm not just gonna walk away and leave you with that," he nods to Jim's crotch, "to handle by yourself, because I'm not fucking stupid. I know I'm still gonna get something out of this. But don't fucking mess me around. You know I'm already yours. Stop trying to prove your point, because I already know."

Jim sucks a breath in through his teeth as Sebastian pulls away, eyes snapping open before narrowing into a sort-of glare. He digs his nails into the sniper's scalp as a means of expressing his irritation, though it doesn't really bother him all that much. He's more interested in Sebastian's words. Slumping back into the couch, he holds the man's gaze steadily, keeping his expression neutral. Not a chance that he'll let show just how much those words get to him, make him shiver. Sebastian is his. Yes, of course he knew it already, but to hear him say it aloud like that.. Oh, gods, it is truly music to his ears.

He can't resist but to lean up and steal a quick peck of a kiss before replying; Sebastian's lips are just oh-so-irresistable, bruised and torn and flushed red. Beautiful.

"What do you want from me, Sebastian?" He glares, irritation creeping into his voice. He is making no secret of the fact that he wants this too, and he part of him wishes Sebastian would just shut up and get on with it. The other part wants to hear what he has to say. Really, he wonders exactly how Sebastian was expecting him to react to his confession. Return the sentiment? Of course not. Surely his tiger knows him better than that.

"Surely you aren't stupid enough to have been expecting romance," he makes that last word twist in his mouth, disdainful, sounding almost like a curse, "So what?"

His face is a stone statue as Jim leans up to kiss him quickly. He doesn't want to lose himself, give in to his desires; it's so hard, but he manages. Somehow. He's still holding Jim down by his hips, now as more of a precaution than a turn on. He has to be careful with his words...or does he? He can't tell where Jim's going with this anymore, so perhaps it doesn't matter.

"Romance?" He sneers. "What do you take me for, Jim? No. Neither of us could do romance. But I'm sick of pussyfooting around this. We've lived in the same flat for the past six months. We've shared the same lifestyle. Jim, I have literally fucking killed for you. I don't know why, but I have. No, don't you fucking look away." He clung harder to Jim, anchoring him down.

"And it's not just me, is it? I've seen the way you look at me sometimes, when I've just come out of the shower. And those nights where you get blind drunk and blackout? Someone has to take you home. Did you know you're a clingy drunk, Jim? Because I did." He growls, as then it's like all the fight's gone out of him, as he drops his head into his chest. He carried on, words barely audible. "I don't know what I want, I don't know what I fucking expected. But fuck, I don't know, I need something, Jim, whatever that is."

Jim actually whines, a high-pitched sound of annoyance, accompanied by a roll of the eyes. Goddamnit, Sebastian got him all worked up and now suddenly he wants some sort of fucking heart-to-heart? No, thank you. He growls, shifting his hips under Sebastian's firm grip. Leaning up he snaps his teeth at the man's lower lip again, then pushes his own out in a childish sulky pout when Seb pulls back to quickly.

"For crying out loud, Sebastian, couldn't this have waited until after you fucked me senseless?" Jim growls right back, lip curling. He really does not want to think about all of this at the moment. So far he's done spectacularly well at keeping anything and everything that even comes close to being an emotion far, far away, and is not keen on changing that.

Honestly, why do people have to be so bloody complicated? That was one of the reasons he'd liked Sebastian in the first place. He didn't seem so complicated. Maybe, apparently, he had been wrong.

He'd relaxed his grip on the man's hair, but now tightens it again, forcing his head back up. Then he shifts his hands so instead he's holding Sebastian's face, pulling him closer. Right now, he doesn't want to even acknowledge what he'd been saying, because he knows it's true, knows he wants something, too. He just doesn't want to face up to that, not yet. All he wants is Sebastian, the distraction of him, his beautiful violent affection.

"Well, here's something," he practically snarls, and he tugs his assassin down and kisses him, hard but far from as brutally as before. No teeth this time. He is not trying to show dominance, or to hurt, here. This kiss is wanting, almost desperate for something Jim doesn't want to admit he wants.

He watches him as he complains...but that's all he does. Complain. He doesn't lash out, he doesn't sneer, he doesn't scream or push him off... Curious. And then suddenly, he's capturing his lips. Sebastian braces for aggression, but it never comes. The kiss is neither slow nor sweet, but full of desire, telling him just how badly Jim wants this.

Fuck it, they'd have all day to talk.

He kisses him back furiously, allowing him control, but every once in a while nipping at his lower lip, showing him that he's still a fighter, still Sebastian Moran. Almost regretfully dragging his hands away, he goes to fiddle with the tiny buttons on Jim's stupid silk shirt. While he thought it actually looked pretty damned hot on him, the 'stupid' came from the fact that it was still on him, a layer between him and the man he wanted, the man he needed. They come undone after a little while; to his delight, one pops off completely, flying past his head, and he's finally able to run his hands across Jim's pale chest, to suck at his next and rake his nails up and down, making sure to catch his nipples in their path.

A little self-satisfied smirk tugs at Jim's lips, pleased that he managed to get Sebastian to shut the hell up, at least for now. For now. That he can work with. He can get what he wants first.. and satisfy the sniper's stupid emotional needs later.

Then he notices, out of the corner of his eye, a stray button disappearing off somewhere in the distance. He's protective about his clothes, it's just one of his little 'things'; he opens his mouth to say something, scold Sebastian, tell him to watch what he's doing - but then his hands are all over him and suddenly holy fuck he could not care less about the shirt. Instead of protests nothing but soft gasps fall from his open mouth, which turn into high-pitched pleading inhales.

This effing teasing is too much now, it's exquisite and torturous and not enough. Of course Jim Moriarty would never stoop so low as to beg.. he just has to find a way to get what he wants. So he squirms underneath Sebastian, wriggling until he can slide his hands down to the man's chest. He pushes his jacket off him first, then scrabbles around to find the hem of his shirt and tug, hoping Sebastian will catch the hint and do the rest of the work for him.

If his mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied, Sebastian would have grinned. The feel of thin fingers ghosting over his stomach as they latch onto his shirt is simply too good not to take notice of. While the gesture may not look like much, he knew that he was victorious, of a sort. This was the closet James Moriarty had ever, and probably would ever, come to begging for something, and the thought alone almost made him weak at the knees. But he also knew that if he hesitated much longer, none of this would pay off.

He broke away for a second or two, gasping, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and ripping it off over his head, throwing it somewhere to his right to be discovered later. Leaning back in to revert his attentions to Jim, he began to practically worship the criminal's mouth. And oh fuck, those noises he was making, so full of want, were having quite an effect on him. He brought one hand back up to Jim's nipple, toying with it, running his nails around it, while the other snaked down to his waist, past his navel, hovering over his zipper. He knew it was wrong to tease, but it would be fascinating to see what he would do next.

The couple of seconds' break is enough for Jim to take a few quick deep breaths, and to lean back and admire Sebastian's face. Cheeks flushed pink, lip rapidly bruising, hair a mess and eyes blown wide with lust; it's a delectable image. And best of all, Sebastian is his. That thought turns him on just as much as the physical side of things.

He only has a brief moment to rake his eyes over Sebastian's naked torso, but that's enough - holy shit, he really is a gorgeous specimen. While Jim is lean, almost skinny, Sebastian is muscular, sculpted. He runs his hands along the man's shoulders, across his back, feeling the muscles tense and flex under the skin. So much power, and at his disposal.

Ah, oh- but Sebastian isn't entirely under his control, and he is reminded of that quite sharply by the tiger's wandering paws. He hisses as Sebastian's nails scratch at the sensitive skin around his hard rose-pink nipple; and then oh christ, his hand goes lower and Jim's hips buck upwards involuntarily, craving contact, friction. He bites down hard on Sebastian's lower lip to suppress a moan, but a low wanton sound still rumbles in his throat. That's just not fair.

On the general scale of things, Jim's hands dancing across his back is a rather fantastic feeling. He arches up into the touch slightly, loving every second of it, moaning quietly into Jim's mouth. But he's not the only one of them loving this; oh no. The sounds coming from the back of the smaller man's throat show him exactly how much he wants this, and it chills him to think that he could ever elicit such a sound... and warms him, too, as he relents, pushing his hand down and palming the bulge in Jim's trousers, which are still fucking on. Ohgod, he wants to move faster, go further, but he wants to see the man underneath him squirm. He wants more of those noises he can feel rumbling through his chest, more of the unexpected reactions. Sebastian hadn't quite imagined how badly he'd be needing Jim at this point, nut at that moment, he wanted everything about him; he wanted to take him, hold him, utterly consume him.

Jim will pretty much be squirming no matter how fast or slow Sebastian takes things, but the teasing is particularly effective at making him move, trying his best to find some source of friction, some kind of relief from the quite frankly painful erection straining behind the fabric of his trousers and underwear. The movement of Seb's hand forces a noise from his that's somewhere between a squeal and a gasp; he pulls away from their violent kiss, finding it hard to concentrate on that anyway. With his thighs hooked around Sebastian's waist he crosses his ankles and squeezes, while at the same time pressing his face into the man's neck.

Sebby dearest isn't the only one with a say in the speed at which they can go with this; Jim still retains control, although he does have to remind himself not to just let go and hand the sniper the reins. No, he doesn't let his guard down.

"Bastard," he growls, right into Sebastian's ear. Hypocritical little shit that he is. But he's fed up of so much teasing; he can tell that Sebastian is enjoying the effect he's having on him, and that just won't do. Can't have his pet getting too big for his collar. No matter how tempting it may be to just give in and surrender to the man's kisses and caresses, he knows it would do no good in the long run. That's the thing about taming wild animals: allow them too much freedom, and they'll remember why they want to escape.

He chuckles to himself breathlessly as Jim snarls into his ear, vicious and feral and ohgod so in control. Tensing as he's pulled in further, he grinds his hips down into Jim's for a second, before pulling away (ohpleaseno just a little more please) and trying to manoeuvre around more of those fucking fiddly little buttons. When he found the bastard behind the design of these clothes, he'd kill him, he thought darkly to himself as he pulled the button free, wrenching the zip down. He gasps as the smaller man finds a sensitive spot again, before yanking his trousers down to his knees, leaving him in just a pair of silky black boxers that look oh so fucking perfect silhouetted against the pale expanse of skin. He nudges Jim's chin up with his head, latching onto a spot somewhere near his collarbone with his mouth, before shoving a hand, shaking with adrenaline, into the criminals underwear, lavishing his attention on his neglected erection, squeezing and twisting his fingers in all the right ways. He wants to make this good; fuck, he want to make this better than good, he wants to do this so well that Jim'll forget his own name.

Jim wriggles, shifting his hips to get those stupid trousers out of the way, breath hitching with anticipation that this is finally going to happen - and then at last, oh gods Sebastian's touching him and it's as if the solar system just exploded in front of his eyes. Holy shit, he doesn't know what he was expecting, but never had he imagined it might be that good. He can barely breath any more. Sebastian's hand is a little clumsy and he can feel him quaking but that really doesn't matter because the feeling is just fucking perfect. Jim tips his head back, mouth falling open in that perfect little "o" of surprise, eyes rolling back in their sunken sockets before flickering closed. His nails dig in to the soft warm skin of Sebastian's shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises, but he doesn't really even notice anymore because all of his attention is focused on two points of his body; that under Sebastian's mouth, and that is Sebastian's hand. He couldn't force himself to think about anything else if he wanted to. In that moment, he is completely at the mercy of the man above him.

Sebastian hopes the nails in his back leave marks, leave a trophy that he can admire in the mirror to remember just what he's capable of. He flicks his eyes up to Jim, head thrown back in ecstasy, too breathless to even make a sound anymore. Whipping his free hand down, he tugs the boxers down, past Jim's arched hips, until he's completely exposed. He has to admit, it's rather a pretty sight. His mouth climbs up Jim's neck, kissing and mouthing and nipping, until he reaches the side of his face, breath rushing past his ear in harsh gasps.

"Good enough, sir?" he rumbles, taking an earlobe between his teeth and picking up the speed of his other hand, twisting it around the base as he begins to pull up and down. Shit, he's shaking again, but he doesn't want to stop, doesn't want to ever stop, wants the heat in his stomach to coil up tighter and tighter for as long as humanly possible. This is fucking nirvana for the sniper, here with Jim writhing underneath him, and he almost considers prolonging it, if it weren't for consideration of their current situation.

Jim can barely find the breath to answer, a strained little whimper - yes, James Moriarty actually just whimpered - forcing its way between his teeth. He struggles to focus on Sebastian's words long enough to form a response, anyway, swallowing and sort of jerking his hips in this awkward fashion as he tries to make up his mind between wanting Sebastian to touch him more (yespleasepleaseyesdefinitely ) and wanting to make comprehensible words happen. Finally, finally he digs his claws into Sebastian's shoulders hard, gripping tight as a sort of anchor.

"You could do better," he growls, working a miracle in managing to make his voice so commanding with Sebastian's hand down there doing such obscenely fantastic things to his cock. As much as using hands go, no, he could not do much better - but there are certainly other things he could be doing that Jim is sure would please the both of them a lot more.

He would be a little insulted if he didn't know that Jim was trying his best to be his usual, sarcastic self. As it was, he was fairly certain of what the smaller man was getting at, and would waste no time getting down there, but he continued what he was doing, perhaps even slowing down a little. Smirking to himself, he began to trace the shell of Jim's ear with his tongue, trying to synchronise it perfectly as he could with the movement of his hand. "Well, I'm open to instruction. You are the boss, after all." Perhaps now he was simply being antagonistic, but there was that part of him again, wanting to see how close he could come to making the man beg for it. Just for the hell of it, he started moaning breathily and without caution, making sure his breathed ghosted into Jim's ear as he continued to work his tongue around it.

Jim growls, frustrated; of course Sebastian would just have to be a bitch about it. God damn the teasing little bastard.

He makes to speak, but then is rudely interrupted by a hot heavy moan right into his ear, accompanied by a hot skillful tongue, and he can't breathe, let alone say anything. That isn't fair.. But then, when has he ever cared about fair?

"You're right. I'll tell you what to do," he finally manages, between shallow panting breaths. He's attempting to sound commanding, in control, and he's almost managing.. There's a hard vicious edge to his voice, but really, he lost control of this situation entirely as soon as Sebastian shoved his hand down his pants.

"Stop tease.. ah-haah.. stop teasing me, Moran, and just fuck me, won't you..?"

It's a bit of a struggle to get the sentence out, and it's permeated by little gasps and half-swallowed moans, but still somehow sounds like an order.

"It's kind of obvious that you want to," he adds, and his smirk is audible; he's a self-righteous little git even now.

Sebastian had lived a relatively long life, but nothing had ever sounded better than that one little demand. Fuck, it almost made him come then and there, and he had been expecting it. He moans one more time, really letting himself go, before he reels it back in, biting his own abused lip to stop himself.

"Thought you'd never ask," he grunts, removing his hand from where it was curled around Jim's cock and attending to his own jeans, which he swiftly disposes of after a brief struggle with the zipper. Shit, this was really happening. He hesitated for a second, something playing on his mind.

"Jim...have you... Lube. Something. Sounds fucking stupid after all this, but without it...it's gonna fucking hurt." He pants desperately as he tries to get Jim to make the connection, and it does seem ridiculous after all of this, being so worried about hurting him. But then again, this was different.

"Without bragging, you're gonna need a little...preparation." He grinned crookedly as he states this; he really wasn't bragging. Well, perhaps a little, but it was to be expected that Sebastian Moran would be rather well endowed.

Without Sebastian's hand down there torturing him, Jim find it is suddenly a lot easier to concentrate - although he feels remarkably cold without it.

He rolls his eyes a bit at the request, and shuffles to sit up a little so he can lean towards the coffee table. Of course he has lube, and of course he knows it'll hurt; surely Sebastian doesn't think he's never slept with a guy before. Sex may not have been at the top of the criminal's list of priorities, but he is human, after all. And he knows how bloody handsome he is. Of course he'd take advantage of that.

As soon as Sebastian had made his confession earlier - hell, it feels like forever ago, now - his mind had been reeling with plans, ideas about what could happen, different variants on a similar theme. One of those variants had always been this, and so of course he'd prepared to make sure everything would go.. smoothly. He wouldn't want something like this to be interrupted.

Jim's fingertips catch the handle of one of those little drawers in the coffee table and he tugs it open, then fumbles blindly around inside it for a second. With a triumphant smirk, he produces a small, expensive-looking (of course) bottle of lubricant.

"Obviously," he purrs, and tosses the bottle up for Sebastian to catch.

Barely managing to catch the little bottle, he raises his eyebrows at the other.

"Sly bastard." he growls with a smile, flicking the cap off expertly with the tip of his thumb. He coats his fingers with the stuff, aching to be inside Jim already, but all the while knowing that this is a necessity...besides, he'll probably enjoy it, anyway. He catches Jim's lips again, dipping his hand down and circling a finger around the tight ring of muscle.

"You sure about the couch?" He gasps, head beginning to clear a little. God, Jim's expression...it's doing things to him, to say the very least, making this so much more difficult to concentrate on.

"Because I'm pretty sure we'd both enjoy it..." Sebastian presses a finger into him slowly, torturously as he talks, timing his words perfectly with how he moves.

"If I fucked you into the floor. You'd look stunning with friction burns all up your back..." He trails off, imagining as he voice becomes huskier, darker with lust.

Oh, fuck.

The moment Sebastian's expert rough fingertip pushes past that tense barrier of muscle, a jolt of twisted painful pleasure shoots through Jim's nervous system, making him gasp, hips bucking upwards. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip to keep from gasping, forcing himself to breathe slowly and steadily through his nose, which takes really quite a bit of effort.

And dear bloody Christ on a bicycle, those words falling from Sebastian's lips.. they really do not help with his maintaining his self control. Some beautifully brutal images wander through his mind, making him shiver. Yeah, okay, being shagged on the floor maybe wasn't the most.. dignified way to do it. Not exactly classy. But oh god it sounds delicious.

"Hnn.. yes.." he manages to breathe, squirming, instinctively trying to force Sebastian's finger deeper into him. Still teasing, even now. The anticipation is such a thrill, though, it's almost worth it. Wouldn't want to rush it.

Shit, this is better than he'd ever imagined. He wants to remember Jim like this forever; gasping, writhing underneath him, pushing into him. It takes him forever to find his voice, but when he does, it's low, thunderous, wanting.

"Although it would be such a pain to have to move...perhaps next time, hm?" Sebastian breaks what eye contact they'd been holding, latching on to what he imagines is somewhere near a pressure point with his mouth, before sliding another finger inside, a little more cautiously this time. He wants to rush, god, he wants to so badly, but he was still concerned about how Jim would take it... His head began to flood with glorious thoughts and images that only served to make him that much more aroused, to the point where it was almost painful. He'd really have to concentrate if he wanted to last. Suddenly, the tip of his finger brushed what he knew could only be a bundle of nerves. Grinning deviously into Jim's hot, sweaty skin, he repeated his action, barely brushing against it, slowing his actions slightly.

And oh fuckinghellchristshitjesusta kethereins, stars explode in front of Jim's eyes and he can't breathe and oh fuck, that's good. Just about every muscle in his body tenses, hips lifting off the couch, and Jim twists his fingers into Sebastian's hair, just needing something to hold on to. Fuck. Nothing really hurts anymore, even the dull aching pain caused by Sebastian stretching him is barely noticeable when compared to the breathtaking pleasure that spins through him with every little stroke of his fingertip.

Bloody hell, they should've done this long ago.

He claws at Sebastian's scalp, blunt nails scraping, scrabbling for purchase. At this rate, he doubts he'll last long. He's so wound up already.

"Hurry up," he gasps, shifting his hips. At the moment he genuinely couldn't care less about how much it would hurt; he just wants Sebastian, inside of him, filling him entirely - and Sebastian wants it too, he's sure. In fact he's a little surprised at how long the sniper has gone without touching himself at all. He admires his self control, just a bit.

As Jim rips his head back, gasping at him, he realises that honestly, he cannot wait any longer. He tugs his head away, scrabbling at his fly with just the one hand, keeping the other inside of the criminal; it wouldn't do much good anyway, slippery as it was. Wrenching his jeans and underwear down in one swipe, he hisses as cold air envelopes his twitching cock. Scrabbling for the bottle of lube, he slicks a fair amount on, getting a decent coating (shitfuckinghell just let go just come here and now it would be sosoeasy) before bringing his quivering fingers out of Jim, positioning himself before the man. Hesitating just slightly, just enough to meet Jim's eyes, half lidded with desire and yet frantic, desperate, he grasps onto his hips and pushes himself in.

His worlds goes blank for a few seconds. There is literally nothing he has ever felt, nobody he's ever fucked, than can compare to this spine-chilling burst of pleasure, and the only thing that crosses his mind is to stop (fuckno please please just move just go christ) to let the smaller man adjust to him.

Jim had braced himself but he was not ready for this, nothing could have prepared him for this. Fuck, it hurts, even with Sebastian's preparation. Two of his fingers didn't really amount to the girth of his cock, and holy shit, Jim would be surprised if he doesn't bleed.

He arches up off the sofa, nails digging hard into Sebastian's scalp, elevating his hips. Pain sears through his spine, but him being him of course he enjoys it, in that twisted little way of his.

A string of vicious expletives chase each other out of his mouth, tangled up with gasps. Yes, it hurts, it really hurts, but now all he wants is for Sebastian to move, god damn it, bring back that intense pleasure he'd felt just moments before.

"Move, Sebastian.." He orders, just managing to sound commanding, although that's difficult in his position. His voice is a low whine, desperate, lustful.

God, he wants to, he's desperate to just fuck Jim into the couch right this minute, and have no regrets about the entire thing. But he can't. He'd rip the criminal to pieces, and as much as the thought of Jim bloodied and bruised turns him on, he wants him to really fucking love this. He groans unabashedly as he feels nails clutching at his skin, Jim's hips lurching up further into him, but he just can't let himself go yet (fuckyou Moran he wants it just fuck him raw), just a little longer. He slams the smaller man's pale hips back down, clenching his teeth as his restraint wears thin.

"Just...hah... Just fucking wait a second, Jim." He tries to sound aggressive, demanding, but he doubts he's heard like that. He probably sounds needy, and god help him, worried about Jim. Fuck, that'll come back to bite him in the ass later.

For the love of all things violent, what is wrong with Sebastian to make him hold back like this? They both want it, quite clearly, and Jim is in no way asking for the other to hold back. Entirely the opposite.

He drags his nails round from Sebastian's scalp to take hold of his face in his hands, brushing his thumb over his tattered lips. Leaning up, he lightly kisses the corner of Sebastian's mouth, then travels along his jaw, up to his ear, all the while rolling his hips, torturously slowly. He can tease too.

Finally, with his nose in Sebastian's hair and his lips at his ear, he breathes, "Move. That is an order, you filthy bastard."

Shit.

That's it. He's gone. He rolls this hips experimentally a few times, before thrusting viciously into the man underneath him, gasps and moans being torn from his abused lips as he really lets him have it and oh, fuck, it's even better than he'd imagined it would be. This could never be a one time thing. No way was he giving this up.

Leaning down to Jim's neck, he hovers, still pounding him into the couch, before trailing a wonderful combination of tongue and teeth up his neck and oh jesusfuckingchrist, that taste that was so purely Jim was driving him insane.

"Living up to your expectations, boss?" he snarls gutturally, letting his hands scrape across his skin, watching the dark pink lines blossom under his fingertips.

Oh.

Several contrasting sensations assault Jim's nerves all at once. First is a rough raw pain, like he's being brutally ripped apart from the inside, and he grips Sebastian's shoulders, digging his nails into the flesh.

His breathing builds, getting heavier with each thrust of Sebastian's hips against his. Fuck, he feels so full, and it hurts-

But then Sebastian hits that spot inside of him, and he almost screams, choking to try to keep himself quiet. What results is a sort of high, strangled gasp, as his eyes roll back again and all the air leaves his lungs. Speaking is beyond his capabilities at that moment, but it definitely fucking exceeds expectations. He barely feels Sebastian's nails as they tear at his skin, totally overwhelmed by sensation. Okay, he doesn't care about control anymore. Doesn't care about anything else but getting more.

Sebastian never thought he'd see the day when James Moriarty came completely undone, but it was such an amazing sight.

And he was to blame.

Oh, it was fucking perfect.

He increases his pace, slams into him, wanting to make him scream, to make him come so hard he'll forget his own fucking name. This, however, is proving to be difficult as the criminal tries his utmost to keep the noise to a minimum...and it displeases his sniper.

"Fuck, Jim...Just let go already." He only breaks for a second or two to growl into his ear, replacing the teeth and the tongue in an instant. And then, the tongue retracts, and he's latching onto Jim's shoulder with his teeth, forehead pressed into the couch behind them as he slows down a little to snap his hips up jerkily, just to try and push Jim over the edge.

Jim would be reluctant to follow Sebastian's suggestion - not an order, never an order - if he were focused enough to do anything much that wasn't purely instinctive. As things are, he can barely concentrate enough to breathe, let alone keep quiet.

So with that last lurch of Sebastian's hips, combined with the delicious sharp pain of his teeth in his shoulder, Jim lets his head drop back and he yells, does exactly what Sebastian wanted and cries out unrestrained. It feels good to scream like that, and he's entirely aware of how much it thrills his sniper too. Of course he's a screamer.

At this rate, he doesn't think he'll last very long; he's so wound up already from what was in his opinion far too much foreplay that it really isn't going to take much to make him break. But he's going to try to last as long as he can. Out-lasting Sebastian.. would be the ultimate triumph, as unlikely as it seems.

The noise, that spine tingling, fucking beautiful noise literally sends Sebastian into a fit of shuddering as he rams his hips as far forward as they'll go. But he keeps going. He's not quite spent just yet, oh christ no. And he knows, he can feel, that Jim's trying to hold back, with his silly little superiority complex that he loved so much. Well, the sniper thinks to himself, blood rushing through his head, he'll just have to appreciate a challenge, won't he now?

He changes his plans, altering his angle to try and find that tiny, essential spot inside Jim that would completely shatter him, break him completely. And shit, he's close, he's so close, but he holds on, has to hold on just a little longer. And then he hits it; fuck, he knows he's hit it. It's perfect.

"Perfect" would be the understatement of the entire millennium. As soon as Sebastian hits that sweet sensitive spot inside of him Jim feels his entire nervous system catch on fire. He can do nothing but groan raggedly and clutch hold of Sebastian's shoulders, nails scraping hard enough to draw blood, as Sebastian hits that spot over and again. That's really not fair, that's playing as dirty as it gets, but Jim's mind is too blown to care. All he knows now is Sebastian, inside him and surrounding him, and that's the only thing that matters. Ladies and gentlemen, this is James Moriarty losing control.

He maybe lasts half a minute after that, at the most. And then suddenly every part of him goes tense. He clings to Sebastian like a lifeline, pushing his face into the man's neck as his orgasm hits him full force and he screams, tearing his throat raw but hardly feeling because oh fuck, Sebastian has definitely achieved what he set out to do; Jim comes so hard he can barely remember where he is. And he doesn't really care in that moment because, well, it's really fucking good.

He feels Jim grip him far too tight, winces as his nails break his skin, willing himself to just keep in control just a little longer...

Oh, fuck.

That's what does it. Jim's face buried in the crook of his neck, the overwhelming tightness, and that scream, jesus christ. He's done; he can't possibly hold on any longer, even if it were a matter of life and death. He clutches the criminal tighter, too tight, worried for a second he'll break his fragile frame, and then everything disappears - thoughts, worries, doubts - behind a haze of stars being drawn across the inside of his eyelids. He hadn't even noticed he'd shut them, but it's the last thing on his mind now, as he shakes violently, not even bothering to pull out of Jim as he comes with a cacophony of gasps and groans. He thrusts weakly a few more times, before collapsing on top of the man underneath him, completely spent. He'd try to talk, but between the rough embrace of ecstasy and fighting to get his breath back, he really doesn't think he'll be able to say a word.

Jim doesn't bother to do anything except hold onto Sebastian with a grip that weakens rapidly as he feels that warm liquid fill him in a sensation that is completely bizarre but not entirely unpleasant.

Only once the man above him is entirely spent does he finally relax his hold on him entirely, though keeping his arms draped about Sebastian's shoulders. Jim keeps his face pushed against his neck too, his breathing hot against his skin as it slows steadily to something more even. He feels thoroughly shaken and a little disorientated, mind still reeling and far from able to piece together comprehensive thoughts.

For once, he is taken over by the physical side of things. It's a little unnerving to realise that he can't pull together thoughts, but not enough to make him move, or to say anything. No, he just lies there, almost ready to tip out of consciousness, fingers drifting lazily along the curves of muscle in Sebastian's shoulders

It doesn't normally take him this long to recover, but Sebastian can make an exception for this. His panting begins to quiet, stopping completely as he heaves more air into his lungs through his nose. His hands drift from being curled like claws around the other's hips to encircling them lazily. Perhaps if Jim tries to run, they'll trap him. Who knows.

He's a little overly sensitive of Jim's breath on his neck, but it's nothing like before. He cherishes the warmth of the moment more than anything, because he doubts there'll be another like this. He presses a soft kiss to the skin just behind the smaller man's ear, before resting his head in his utterly dishevelled hair. He didn't give a shit if it was sentimentality, he'd just given Jim what looked like the best orgasm of his life; Sebastian was sure he could make allowances.

Jim is usually the kind of person to have a quick fuck and then promptly either kick his partner out of bed or leave himself. But there is nothing usual about this situation. Usually he isn't so exhausted afterwards that it's hard to remember where he is. Usually he doesn't even know the other person's full name.

Usually it isn't that good.

Now he just lies there, quiet, totally spent and feeling sort of blissfully oblivious and warm. He can't be bothered making the effort to do anything else, and oddly enough doesn't really feel inclined. Having Sebastian there.. Jim doesn't want to admit it even to himself, but it's kind of.. Nice.

Besides, he's almost asleep. Might as well take advantage of Sebastian's warmth.

The sniper begins to notice Jim's breathing deepening, evening out slowly as he relaxes further and further into him. His drowsiness is contagious, it seems, as Sebastian fights to stop his eyelids from drooping. It was then he took notice of his position; half on, half off the couch, being held on only by the smaller man. While he wasn't in any mood to move, it wasn't exactly comfortable, and his back ached a little in protest. He sighed quietly in sleepy frustration.

Briefly tightening his arms around Jim, he began to shift this way and that, only very slightly at a time, until he had managed to roll himself over so that he was lying flat out on his back, the smaller man draped over his chest. He let out a quiet, rumbling hum, letting it roll around his chest for a while before fading back into a comfortable silence.

Jim sort of growls a little like a grumpy cat, not too keen on being moved, but doesn't really protest. He just holds onto Sebastian loosely, as he is a pretty much limp and pliable as a ragdoll.

Finally the taller ceases his moving around, and Jim shifts only a little so he's curled against Sebastian's chest with their limbs all tangled together and his head under Sebastian's chin, face nuzzled comfortably in between his neck and his shoulder.

He lets out a little sigh to harmonise with that hum, the sort of sigh that signifies slipping into sleep.

Sebastian has to admit, this is more than he'd dared to hope for. He had imagined he'd just be a stress reliever, kicked out when they'd finished, but this... This was pleasant. Comfortable. He'd never admit it for fear of sounding like a goddamned schoolgirl, but this felt right.

He brings up an arm to ruffle loosely through his hair, flicking it out of his face, while the other remains curled around Jim on his chest. Distantly, he wondered if this was acceptable, holding him like this, but in truth, he didn't care. He could be selfish, just for a little while.

Sebastian tries to fight it, tries his hardest to stay awake, but sleep envelopes him in a warm embrace, dragging him under silently.


	3. Chapter 3

AN - Oh Jim you so tsundere ;/n/;

* * *

Jim wakes up first, of course. He doesn't sleep all that long, perhaps two or three hours, then wakes slowly, taking a while to surface from unconsciousness and work out where he is, and why.

Slow dull pain creeps into various parts of his body, along with the sharp sting of torn skin.

Oh. Yes.

He breathes in deeply, taking in the soft familiar scent of Sebastian, and yawns, breath warm against the man's neck. Then he carefully disentangles their limbs and stands, moving every so slowly in his slightly dazed state. He stretches his arms above his head, tilts his head from side to side. For a moment he pauses, watching Sebastian sleep still. He doesn't want to think about what they did, not just yet, because he isn't entirely sure how he feels about it. It was good, _very_ good, and he definitely doesn't regret it.. but he'll wait, for Sebastian to wake up too. Sebastian seemed to want _feelings_ to be involved... and he isn't so keen on feelings. They tend to make people vulnerable. He hates being vulnerable.

Away he wanders, not bothering to collect his discarded clothes. He still has his shirt on, he realises, but everything else has been removed at one point or another. The first stop is a shower, cleaning away the sticky mess of sweat and blood and sex coating his skin. He checks over his battle wounds; countless little bruises, especially across his hips, in the shape of Sebastian's fingertips. Scratches across his chest. And when he stands in front of the mirror to shave and comb his hair, he finds a beautiful collection of lovebites marring the pale skin on his neck, staining it purple and red like ink blots. He feels fabulously raw.

Finally he dresses, suit trousers and a white shirt; about as casual as it gets for him. And then he migrates to the kitchen, for coffee, and to wait for Sebastian to rouse himself.

It's not long before Sebastian finally stirs, groaning quietly and drawing a hand over his eyes. When had it gotten so cold...? Cracking open an eyelid, he takes in his unclothed state, and the distinct lack of Jim. He would complain, but then again, something tells him that the smaller man doesn't often stay, and so he drags himself upright, pushing his arms out far in front of him, popping that stubborn part of his back that never seemed to quit.

It's then he looks down at himself, noting just how many little tokens of his affection Jim has left on him. Hissing as he arches his neck, he can feel the burn of open flesh... Oh. Jim's little lovebite. Yes, that would take a while to heal, wouldn't it? Felt like it was going to be a painful bitch, too. He grunts, shoving a hand into his hair, forcing it back over his head, before turning around to where he imagines Jim might be. And yes, there he is, all prim and proper. Well, he would be, if it weren't for the few traces of red and purple edging their way above his collar and around his wrists. He raises an eyebrow appreciatively. Oh, Sebastian, you certainly did a good job there.

"So am I gonna get a shower in before I have to start cowering and explaining myself, or do you just want to get straight to it?"

Deep down, he could tell that both of them knew he would never 'cower', but it was simply a way to hand the baton of control over to Jim, like it should be.

That smug little bastard grin pulls at Jim's lips.

"Oh, I don't know," he says, in that perversely sing-song fashion, uncrossing his legs before crossing them again the opposite way. Even that movement seems narcissistic, somehow.

"I kind of like you all.. dishevelled. It's delicious."

He laughs softly to himself, before lifting his coffee cup and taking an elegant sip.

He puts down the cup, and all at once his expression becomes serious. It's unsettling, the way he flits from mood to mood like that without warning. Makes one wonder what he's really feeling, what's underneath.

"But, no, go shower."

"Thank fuck for that..." he rumbles, pulling himself upright and strolling towards the bathroom. "Because I seriously stink." He rolls his shoulders as he passes by Jim, the muscles in his back twitching in response. Reaching for the door handle, he pulls it shut without even so much of a glance over his shoulder.

Flicking the dial on the shower to the right setting (colder than Jim has it, the criminal seems to enjoy it hot), Sebastian climbed in, simply letting the water run down him and rinse off some of the evidence of last night. While he's in here, he might assess some of the damage. Running his fingers carefully over some of the bruises and scratches that mar his skin, tanned from years in the military, he winces a few times. Nothing more, though. The big one is the one on his neck, but he's happy with that one. Hurts like a bitch, but it's a nice reminder of what happened.

He grunts softly to himself, flicking the shower off and climbing out, wrapping a black towel round his waist. Sebastian begins to search for his clothes, but then remembers that _christ_, they're still strewn around the sofa. Probably ripped, anyway.

He wanders out, hair dripping rivulets of water down his back as he goes to lean against the kitchen counter, staring wordlessly at Jim.

Jim raises his eyebrows at Sebastian, in a sort of bored, unimpressed expression. But he _is_ kind of impressed, just by that beautiful breathtaking sight of his sniper shirtless and wet and decorated deliciously with blooms of yellow-purple and dashes of red. His eyes linger on the particularly brilliant bite-mark on his neck; he's really rather proud of that.

"..coffee?"

He prompts finally, tilting his head with that smoothly reptilian movement towards the half-full cafetiere on the counter. He isn't going to say anything about what he knows Sebastian wishes to discuss; the sniper is going to have to broach that topic himself. Personally, Jim isn't all that bothered about talking about it. He's never been one to put labels on anything - himself, his sexuality, his relationships. That has confused people from time to time, got him into 'trouble'. But it never bothered him. If Sebastian wants to be in love with him, fine. If Sebastian wants to fuck him viciously from time to time, brilliant. If, however, Sebastian expects anything like an emotional confession in return, he's going to be disappointed. Jim usually keeps his emotions fairly close to the surface, yes, especially anger. He's never been the calm, quiet type. But he is not up for making himself vulnerable, especially to a man who is already so close to him. That just wouldn't bode well for either of them.

Nodding, he remains silent, wandering over to stretch an arm up and grab a mug from the cupboard above Jim's head. Damn it, the bastard's sat here on purpose, he's sure of it. Sat here so he can see him and smell him, and if he really wanted to, just reach out and touch him. Worship him.

But he doesn't. Because Sebastian Moran considers himself an expert in self control.

So he pours himself a coffee, and hoists himself up onto the counter, not bothering to find a chair. He lets himself breathe in the rich aroma rolling up from his mug, bringing to his lips and savouring the bitterness of it. No sugar; Sebastian has always seen it as unnecessary, detracting from the blend of the coffee itself. In a way, it reminds him of Jim. Sharp, bitter, and more often than not, catching him unaware and burning him. He smiles at the analogy, watching the dark liquid ripple and wave.

"So." Sebastian finally speaks, without rushing, but resolutely.

"Last night." He leaves it there. He doesn't feel the need to explain himself.

"What about last night?" Jim asks smoothly over the lip of his coffee cup, barely batting an eyelid. Yes, of course it's inevitable that they're going to have to discuss things, because Sebastian is only human, whereas Jim would be perfectly content not to do so. But if it will keep Sebastian content for a while, he will oblige. After all, he needs to keep his pets relatively happy to keep them loyal.

"I assume you want to place some sort of label on this.. _relationship_ we have," he drawls, before taking a small, measured sip of coffee. He takes his black but sweetened to the point of almost being sickly, like his smiles. That is, when he's not drinking some fancy concoction in an overpriced café - preferably somewhere in Italy... His mind is wandering again. He puts the cup down on the counter, all the while holding eye contact with Sebastian. It's almost impossible to read anything in those dark, dark eyes; they're brown really, but appear black, pupils melting seamlessly into the irises and providing a stark contrast against the whites. Intense, his gaze bores into Sebastian's, interrogating.

If he's being perfectly honest, Sebastian doesn't know what he wants. His first idea is simply 'something normal', but that would never do. Normal wouldn't work, not for them. He takes a little while to let his thoughts wander, eyes sweeping over the room, his mug, but mostly Jim. Idly, he wonders whether to just be done with this now, but it seems a little pointless when it's obvious that he could at least get something out of it.

"I don't know." He finally murmurs, tilting his head back to rest it against the cupboard.

"But it would be an _awful_ shame if there wasn't a repeat of last night." He drains his mug, setting it down gently, letting his arms lie draped over his lap. "You sounded like you rather enjoyed it." He can't keep the smirk off his lips at that, and why should he? The memory is his alone, would never be anyone's but his. He is allowed to enjoy it. Bringing his eyes back down from the ceiling, they lock back onto Jim's again, grey versus brown.

"Oh darling, trust me, you were making quite the little racket yourself," Jim purrs, tongue darting out over his lips.

"Repeats - definitely allowed.." He muses, tracing a fingertip thoughtfully around the rim of his cup, "but Sebastian, tiger.."

He pauses, and sets the cup down on the counter with a light clink. For a few seconds he says nothing, just watching Sebastian carefully, head tilted to the side.

"Surely you haven't forgotten already what you said to me _last night._"

He stands, and paces over Sebastian with an unnervingly feline gait. Finally he stops, facing Sebastian, merely a few feet apart. His gaze flickers down, across the man's torso, which is so beautifully marred by old scars underneath fresh bruises and tears. It's almost impossible to resist the urge to touch, but he manages. His voice is low and a little dangerous when he speaks again.

"I think we both know you're after more than a quick fuck now and again."

He almost shivers when Jim calls him 'tiger'. Almost. The word just has this glorious quality to it, tumbling from Jim's lips accentuated with his lazy Irish drawl. Fucking _beautiful_.

"Perhaps I am."

Reaching a hand up, he scratches at the stubble forming on his jawline, vaguely returning to the recurring thought of how Jim always appears so clean shaven. It's always confused him. Maybe he'd ask someday, now they were...well, closer, at least. He lets his eyes trail down, down past Jim's pale neck to the buttons of his shirt (you could rip it off he'd look so much better, you know he would Sebastian just _do_ it) and back up again, coming to rest not on his eyes, but the dark eyelashes that framed them. Eyelashes most girls would just die for.

"But you know what they say. Beggars can't be choosers, now, can they, boss?" Sebastian lets the words roll off his tongue, putting more care into them than he'd like to admit.

"Never thought of you as one to _beg_, though, 'Bastian," he counters easily, voice like velvet. He had followed Sebastian's gaze, and smirks slightly to see where it wandered. Really, he can read that man almost too easily; it's a crucial factor for him when selecting new... employees.

Jim reaches out slowly, but not hesitantly - thoughtfully, and brushes his fingertips lightly, so lightly, over the particularly brutal bite wound he left on Sebastian's neck. Then his fingers travel upwards, along the man's jaw, cheekbone, and finally sliding into his hair. He brushes his thumb over Sebastian's torn, slightly swollen bottom lip. Poor thing. All the while he reads the man's reactions, gauging carefully. When he speaks again his voice is low, strangely soft.

"Tell me what you want, Sebastian," he murmurs, tilting his head this way and that, inches from Sebastian's. Manipulative little bastard.

Flinching slightly when he feels the brush of fingers over his skin, Sebastian forces himself to close his eyes, breathe in deeply, calm the /fuck/ down. He can feel that little tilt of Jim's head by the way his breath is hitting his face, that reptilian movement that's become more of a habit than a conscious action. Breathe, Moran. He's just trying to get under your skin (you could definitely take him now just pin him to the floor what the hell are you waiting for do it) in that way he knows he can.

"I've already told you. I don't know." He steels himself for a sarcastic reply, a change in mood, sudden violence, perhaps, but he surprises himself by continuing.

"All I know is that it would involve you, and me. I hadn't exactly planned this far ahead. Don't have a speech written up for you, I'm afraid." His voice was calm, even to the point of insolence.

"We are already _involved_, Sebby darling.."

Jim murmurs, though his focus is less on his words now and more on Sebastian's mouth. He uses his thumb to pull his bottom lip away from his teeth slightly, watching as if fascinated. Sebastian really is quite the beautiful specimen, and if it was down to Jim he would simply keep the man and use him however he fancied at the time. Well, that is basically what he does do - although Sebastian has this annoying notion of 'independence'. He wonders about beating that out of him; there are ways he has, careful methods of psychological violence that could turn Sebastian into an obedient dog more than the barely-tame tiger he is currently.

But where would be the fun in that? After all, it is Sebastian's feral streak that makes this whole thing so exciting.

Jim huffs a frustrated sort of sigh, lets his hand slip from the man's face to rest against his neck. He runs his fingers idly over the mark there. Damnit, things are so /complicated/ when other people are involved. This is why he always stays distant, aloof. Never risks getting /involved/. But now, he supposes he is, whether he likes it or not. Getting rid of Sebastian at this point just is not an option he will consider.

"You're mine," he muses, tone fairly neutral, thoughtful. "But what to do with you?"

He leans into Jim's hand, letting out a soft sigh, pissed at himself. Perhaps he's after a little affection. Maybe just recognition. Whatever it is that's driven him into this stupid, fantastic situation, it's not right for someone in his line of career. Snipers shouldn't be able to feel. Snipers shouldn't be attention seeking _twats_. And yet here he was.

"Whatever you want." Sebastian mutters, glaring off to his right somewhere. "It's not like I'm going anywhere, is it?"

He knew that he would go, were he forced, but he didn't like to think about how he'd been before Jim. The shitty accommodation, the occasional 'commission', and the dull ache for drugs he couldn't afford. Sebastian couldn't go back to just _existing_. Not after living like this.

He considers for a moment whether he should just leave it at that, jerk his head away and go and put some clothes on, but he doubts that would get him any further. They'd never bring this up again, and he'd spend all of his time alternating between hating Jim and loathing himself, and frankly, he'd rather not.

"No, no you're not, my dear..."

Jim murmurs contemplatively, the corner of his lip pulling upwards slightly as he feels Sebastian lean into his touch.

It's not particularly surprising, but he revels in the affirmation that Sebastian craves his affection so. He kind of gets a kick out of it.

So of course he's going to milk it.

Tilting his head again, to a better angle, he leans forward, nudges Sebastian's face upwards, and presses his lips to the other man's.

It's light and almost mockingly gentle, a twisted parody of tender. Partially he only does it because he's run out of words and cannot be bothered searching for any more. That, and he just.. wants to do it. Sebastian's lips taste vaguely of blood and coffee and feel like they were made to fit against his. Although, that thought is sickeningly sentimental.

He twitches back a little in surprise at how gentle Jim's being, but doesn't pull away. He kisses back cautiously, watching the other warily at first, but then letting his eyes close. When he pulls back, his eyebrows are furrowed; not quite in confusion, it's more curiosity than anything else.

At some point while he had his eyes shut, he notices, his arms have found their way around the smaller man. He draws them back hesitantly, not wanting to provoke a reaction, but not wanting to let go completely. They come to rest on Jim's hips, so much gentler than his sadistic caresses the night before.

"Jim...?" He breathes, unsure quite what to do. Does he try to advance on him? Does he back down completely? If he's being perfectly honest with himself, he doesn't quite know what the fuck is going on. Jim's running rings around him again; whatever goes on in that twisted head of his is far too complicated for Sebastian to even comprehend.

"Mm," Jim mumbles non-committally, ducking in for another little kiss. To be completely frank he doesn't really know where he's going with this either. Plans are all well and good in his line of work, but he doesn't really have one now. Before a plan can be formed, he needs to do a little more research.

"Yes, Sebastian?" He coos, sliding his fingers into the sniper's hair and twisting slightly, though not quite enough to hurt. He doesn't move back much, brushing the tip of his nose against Sebby's. Really, he just wants to play with him for a while, push him around to see just how far he'll go before he snaps. And, hopefully, gain more of an insight into just what it is Sebastian really wants; he has to know, whether consciously or not.

His breath hitches as he stares into Jim's dark eyes. Damn it... This really _i__s_ a weakness. Look at him. A little close proximity, and he is going all soft. Pathetic, Sebastian. Pathetic.

He subconsciously grips Jim's hips a little tighter, lest he try to get away. Eyes narrowing, he tilts his head back slightly, just far enough so that they aren't touching anymore, just far enough that he can think clearly again.

There are so many things he wants to know, wants to ask; things he could quite happily stand and scream at Jim, and things that could only ever be whispered into his ear in the middle of an embrace. So many things, and yet he can't just choose one, or everything will come hurtling out.

"...what are you doing?" he finally settles on, voice perhaps a little weaker than he'd intended.

Jim raises his eyebrows, giving Sebastian his signature "are-you-mentally-challenged" look.

"What does it look like, _sweetheart_?"

His fingers migrate to rest in a light yet definitely possessive grip at the back of Sebastian's neck, nails scraping just lightly over the skin there. Of course he knows that the sniper isn't _that_ obtuse, but, of course, he's going to be a bitch about it.

Glaring at the smaller man, he brings his head back down so their foreheads are resting against each other's.

"It looks like you're _trying_ to be a manipulative little shit."

Sebastian pulls Jim in closer, breath rolling over the smaller man's face.

"So I guess the question should really be, what do you want from me?"

He brings his lips tantalisingly close to Jim's, but leaving just the tiniest gap between them, making no move to do anything else whatsoever.

"Oh, you _do_ know me so well," Jim chuckles, darkly. Yes, that is exactly what he's trying to do - although perhaps not as successfully as he had thought. Never mind that, though. This reaction from his pet is _far_ more interesting.

He stands up a little taller, leans up so he can just brush his lips against Sebastian's as he speaks. That's all, though, just a ghost's touch. He isn't about to give in, either.

"And therefore, you should know how I hate to put labels on these things. All I ask of you is your unfaltering loyalty, obedience.. ownership of your soul, etcetera."

That last little clause isn't really much of an exaggeration. Jim's opinion of souls and the existence thereof is pretty grey, but if they exist, Sebastian's belongs to him.

Sebastian's nostrils flare very slightly as he struggles to stay perfectly still. He is _not_ going to let Jim get the better of him. Not again.

"You know for a fact that you already own me. Don't rub it in."

He'd like to say something hurtful, spit the words into Jim's face to show him that he's not quite your average housecat, but Sebastian knows the difference between independence and foolishness. Admitting the truth, however, simply gives him something to concentrate on; forcing back the disgust and self pity that rolls up in waves as he tells this man, this weak little man that he could take down with little more than a flick of his hand, that he belongs to him.

"..yeah, okay, that's true. I just like to hear you say it,"

Jim's taunting him, pulling back a fraction with that shit-eating self satisfied grin that's earned him a punch in the mouth more than once. He sways a little on the spot - or, not so much sways, as _oscillates_, tilting his head to examine Sebastian's expression from all angles.

He holds the other man's gaze for a few seconds, reading him, then finally he stepped back, giving Sebastian a light shove in the chest. It's just to make space between them; he knows full well that his strength is nothing in comparison to the sniper's.

He takes a few steps backwards, and already his phone is in his hand. He has remembered something.

"Sebastian," he begins, and it's like he's a totally different person now; the grin is gone, replaced with a scowl. He holds up the phone screen, on which a log of text messages between him and Sebastian is displayed.

"You never answered my question."

[ ...oh god. You're not...Not him. Not that jumped up detective. –SM]

[ Please don't say that. –SM]

[ What the hell are you implying, Sebastian? – JM]

Now he flushes. Of all times to fucking _blush_, he does it now. What an arsehole.

"I just..." He glares at Jim, a full power, angry scowl, and stalks off to the other side of the kitchen. It's not far, barely more than a few feet, but it feels like miles.

He slams his hands down on the counter, breathing deeply. Sebastian takes his time, but when he does finally answer, he's facing away from the other man, back arched in frustration, voice low and gravelly.

"I thought for a moment, that you and that Holmes bastard..." Snarling, his hands clench into fists.

"You're so fucking _obsessed_ with him. I thought maybe there was something more to it than twisted curiosity." He huffs air from his nose, turning back round, but refusing to meet Jim's eyes, posture tense and hunched up.

He isn't going to go into how his stomach had dropped when he thought he might have lost his boss to the overconfident prick. Jim didn't need to know that. Stuff like that was... Private, if not forbidden completely.

The whole while Sebastian works himself up like that, gets frustrated, Jim just stands there, doing that thing he does of being infuriatingly calm.

"Oh, Sebastian, darling," he murmurs, once the sniper has finished growling his words and abusing the kitchen surfaces.

"I'm afraid there are some things that your little kitty cat mind will simply never quite be able to grasp.."

A little half-smile graces his lips, eyebrows raised slightly, but the smile doesn't meet his eyes. There's something like melancholia there, hard to read, /complicated/.

"And my.. _relationship_ with Sherlock Holmes is one such thing."

He paces over, gait nonchalant as always, to stand close to Sebastian, bringing their proximity back almost to what it had been minutes ago. About a foot apart, perhaps a little less. The criminal tilted his head up, and blinked curiously at Sebastian.

"You were jealous, though."

That smile changes, twists into a cruel smirk.

"You want to be the object of my 'obsession', don't you?"

And at that he laughs, and he knows it's a _cruel_ thing to do, knows that at the rate he's going with winding Sebastian up in such a way he's due a punch in the fact or something similar really quite soon. But that's Jim Moriarty. Everything is just .. a game.

"Your obsession?" Sebastian chuckles dryly, humourlessly. "No, I don't. I've seen how you treat your playthings. When you're done, you just toss them aside."

He folds his arms over his chest, effectively creating a barrier between him and Jim, an impenetrable wall.

"You're like a spoilt child, aren't you? Always doing what he pleases..."

Narrowing his eyes, he studies Jim, as if he were looking into his head. In reality, he's just wondering how long Jim has had those dark circles under his eyes, how long it's been since he's slept properly. Stupid bastard, always working himself to the bone. Wasn't healthy at all.

His mouth twitches; not quite a smile, but not quite a frown.

"I think in the long run, I'd much rather be a pet than a plaything, Jim."

Jim will only allow Sebastian to stare at him like that for so long before he snaps. He almost, almost closes the gap between them, standing up on tiptoes so that from the right angle it would look like a kiss; millimetres apart, he threads his fingers into the man's damp hair and tightens his grip. Hard.

"Too bad for you, _darling_," he snarls, and when he snarls he really _snarls_, so the words barely sound human anymore, twisted and dangerous, "You blew your chances of that when you _fucked_ me. Last time I checked bestiality wasn't on my list of turn-ons."

Yes, he's exaggerating, being a bit of a twat about it, really. Of course Sebastian is his _pet_ - they've both known that for some time. But right now, there's something about the term he can't stand. It's.. too affectionate.

He tilts forwards to close that gap, but instead of a kiss he snaps his teeth into Sebastian's lip again and splits it freshly open.

"You're a man for hire, darling, and I hired you. Now.." he cocks his head thoughtfully, licking Sebastian's blood off his lips, "You're my fucktoy. If you don't think you can deal with that without getting emotionally _involved_.." His hip curls disdainfully at that, "Then I suggest you leave now." He steps back, and crosses his arms over his chest, too. "It will take a while to find a replacement for you."

He hisses angrily as his lips is spilt open again, but there's nothing passionate about it this time. This is one man, asserting his dominance over the other through aggression.

And Sebastian has had enough.

"It would take _years_ to find a replacement. I know your track record with your assassins, Jim, and I know you haven't kept me around this long simply because of my winning smile." His arms unfold, muscles tensing as he growls into his boss' face. Fingers reaching up to burrow into the soft flesh of Jim's shoulders, he squeezes, drawing him closer.

"And from what I recall, judging by your reaction last night," Sebastian sneers, "I doubt you'll be finding a better _fucktoy_ soon, either."

Flinging him away, he stands his ground, eyes narrowing. Anyone would swear he was baring his teeth, preparing to lash out, to claw at Jim's face; they would have been well off the mark. The sniper has no intention of hurting the smaller man. He wouldn't escape with his life.

"I'm not just some common civilian you can take for granted. It would probably do you good to remember that." He swipes the blood off his lip with a clenched fist, teeth ground together bitterly.

Jim allows himself to be thrown back and consequently feels himself crash hard into the counter behind him, the corner of which digs into his painfully into his back, sure to add another bruise to the collection that's already there.

For a moment he is just still, a little stunned by the outburst. Of course it isn't unexpected; he'd been dangling Sebastian over a ledge for what felt like forever now. And he'd finally fallen. It isn't a surprise, but he's winded by his crash into the counter and in all honestly just a little bit fascinated.

So much _power_ in his tiger, such energy, such passion. And every word Sebastian said is the truth. Jim has no intention of replacing him. None at all.

It takes a few moments, but he finally pulls himself together enough to stand up straight, wincing just a little at the pain in his spine, and pad back towards Sebastian.

"There you are." he purrs, and he wears a dark, dark smile that isn't really a smile at all anymore.

Before Sebastian can shove him away again, Jim rises to his toes and grabs the sniper's face, pulling him down in a sudden jerking movement and kissing him. It is a kiss more than a bite but still is violent, hard and a little cruel.

Snarling into Jim's mouth, Sebastian kisses him back furiously, hands knotting into his hair and tugging, harder than was probably necessary. But this was Jim. Jim could handle it. The bastard would never let him know if he'd hurt him, anyway.

He bites at his lip with a raw sort of ferocity, but even now, when he's close to seeing red in his furious state, he's careful not to break the skin. It would never do to have Jim meet a client with a split lip. As well as that, the little shit was so vain that he'd be bitching about it for weeks. Christ, he didn't want to put up with that.

He pulled away, panting, eyes dark. "What the fuck are you trying to do, Jim?" he gasps, his breathing taking its time to even out.

"What sort of game are you playing here?" The sniper is certainly calmer than before, but his voice still holds a dangerous edge to it. He doesn't appreciate being played with. Sebastian is a tiger, not a kitten, and he's almost had enough of this. Almost.

Jim growls in frustration when Sebastian pulls back, leaning forward to try to capture his lips again. He presses kisses to the corner of his mouth, along his jaw, brushing his ear. God damnit, why does he insist on so many questions all the time, so much /talking/?

"I don't know," he finally leans back and glares darkly at the other, nails scraping through Sebastian's hair, "I haven't exactly got a rule book."

He tilts his head to the side studiously, stroking circles with his thumb at the nape of Sebastian's neck in a fashion that was dangerously close to affectionate.

"I imagine it's one of strategy.."

He leans up and pushes another quick kiss to Sebastian's mouth. He can't help it, the man is fucking delicious. It's like putting candy in front of a child and telling it not to touch.

"Why? Would you like to quit?"

His body responds to the fleeting touches against his will, strong hands coming up to rest on the back of Jim's neck. Sebastian would have pushed him away again, but then where would he have been? To push away a criminal mastermind who was intent on kissing however much of him he could reach... Well, that would be very stupid indeed.

"I'm no quitter." He grunts, revelling in the feel of Jim's mouth on his. And god, he's so weak, so much weaker than he'd thought, because that's all it takes for his arms to slide around the smaller man, grasping at the back of his shirt as he leans down to mouth along his neck, so much softer than before.

If he hadn't been so focused on the other, on his taste and his smell and how he felt underneath his lips, he'd have been disgusted with himself; disgusted with how he had been reduced from a killer to someone's plaything, but in the heat of the moment, he couldn't care less.

"Besides, this is just getting interesting."

A soft, breathy not-quite-moan falls from Jim's open mouth at the smooth brush of Sebastian's lips along his neck. Well, that's different, that's almost tender, and it makes him shiver in a way that he isn't sure is altogether good. He doesn't want Sebastian to be /nice/ like that. It's foreign and unsettling, but oh /god/ he likes it.

He clutches handfuls of Sebastian's hair, forcing himself closer. Not that they can really get all that much closer - well, not in the position they were in, at least. Gasping softly for breath, he smooths his fingers over Sebastian's hair and holds him still for just a moment.

"Oh, good, I do so /hate/ to be boring," he sings, voice lightly mocking and half laughing breathlessly.

"You? Boring? You're many things, Jim, but you've never been boring."

His breathing is slowing; temper cooling down as Jim's fingers knot into his hair, anchoring him, steadying him. Sebastian's hands, calloused and scarred from conflicts of the past, unfurl from the light shirt, fists spreading out slowly until his hands are cupped around Jim's arse. It's not a gesture that's possessive, or violent, or fuelled by lust. It's simple. It feels like it fits, and that's why he does it.

Sebastian pulls the smaller man flush up against him in a manner most would never consider gentle; it's far too jerky, too rough for a normal embrace. And yet, what might seem like aggression to most people would be tender to a tiger, and only him and his handler would realise it.

Moving up from Jim's neck to the side of his face, he stops by his ear, just breathing. Waiting.

Jim releases a little sigh as Sebastian pulls them together, and his body melts to fit the other's (_ah, the heat of him_). As he expels the breath he relaxes almost completely, tilting his head and taking a brief moment to rest his cheek against Sebastian's. His fingers loosen in his hair and his arms slip down to loop around Sebastian's neck. And oh, for that fleeting desperate moment all Jim wants to do is lean on him and be held like that and-

No. He forces his mind away from that sort of dangerous thinking, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. His intentions were never to get attached, and now he hates Sebastian for being so - so fucking _tender_.

Jim takes in a deep breath, full of Sebastian's smokey warm scent. The bastard, why does he have to be so.. tempting?

With a little sound of frustration he pulls away. He takes a couple of quick steps backwards until he hits the counter, then hoists himself up smoothly so he's sitting on the cool marble surface. Tilting his head pseudo-coyly to the side, he spreads his legs deliberately slowly; a space for Sebastian's hips to fit.

Breathing in as Jim's arms drop, the tension drains from his shoulders as he feels Jim's skin on his, hot and smooth and rough and _exactly right_.

And suddenly, gone.

Sebastian almost flinches as Jim moves away, ready to take a swing at him for messing him around like that; stupid fucking bastard, it's _always_ a game... But his hand never curls into the fist he's expecting, just twitches at his side as he drinks in the sight of Jim, legs splayed, waiting. He sighs through his nose quietly, blinking, before moving over as he knows Jim intended him to.

He rests himself in the space between Jim's thighs deliberately, arms rested on either side of his slim hips. The sniper was no genius compared to his boss, but he knew that he could just forget all of this, take Jim here and now and just _have him_, and neither of them would complain (yes Sebastian go on _do it_ he wants it). But he'd seen Jim relax into him, felt it against his chest. A quick rut against the counter like a sex-starved teenager isn't particularly high on his priorities right now.

Jim makes a pleased little purring sound deep in his throat as Sebastian slips in against him. Such a perfect fit, such a lovely feeling, like finally completing a very difficult puzzle with a million pieces.

He slips his arms around Sebastian's waist, spreading his hands across his back. His fingertips mapped out the smooth curves and contours of the man's lean, powerful muscles, the very slight bumps of his vertebrae. He walks his fingers along them, then dusts them down his ribs, fitting his fingers in the little dips between them. Oh, but he could spend hours doing just that alone. Would become a cartographer purely to draw maps of this man, his skin and sinews and muscle and bone, his arteries, his nervous system, every hair on his body.

What is it about Sebastian Moran he found so fascinating?

Jim bows his head slightly, almost reverently, and leans forward so that his forehead rests just below the man's sternum. Then he turns his head a little, to listen to his heartbeat, and closes his eyes, and goes still.

He could feel Jim against his chest, the quiet noises vibrating in his throat against Sebastian's skin as his fingers skimmed over his skin, tracing unknown patterns, drawing pictures that would remain invisible forever and writing notes that could never be read. Inhaling, he filled his lungs with air, before he felt Jim's soft hair brush his skin, leading to his forehead. Exhaling slowly, he tilts his head back, allowing the other just a few moments of peace, stealing some for himself as well.

Things like this, moments where the atmosphere was calm and quiet, where Sebastian could swear he could hear Jim's heartbeat, wouldn't come around very often. He'd better savour it while it lasted.

Before too long, he brought his gaze back down again, breathing softly as his eyes rested on the smaller man. Sebastian wouldn't be so disrespectful as to shatter the silence by saying something stupid; instead, he simply brings a hand up to Jim's face. It was times like these when the difference in their heights and statures became apparent, Sebastian's fingers large enough to cover Jim's face completely. But they don't; of course they don't. They curl up around his unshaven cheek gently, Sebastian's thumb deviating from the pattern to rub softly at the silken skin behind Jim's ear.

No, moments like this, he had to savour. Moments like this one were rare in most people's lifetimes, he was sure of it. He couldn't say his heart was swelling, or bursting with love, or some soppy shit like that. It just felt _right_, and that was the only thing he had to go on.

For a brief moment Jim thinks that maybe he could just stay like that forever, and forget everything to the constant rhythm of Sebastian's heart-

But he catches himself, reminds himself who he is. He is Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal. There is no room in him for sentimentality. No heart, no soul, he prides himself on what he doesn't have. No conscience, not a care for another living being.

So why Sebastian? What is it that this man does to him that makes him feel almost human?

He can't let it get to him. He won't. No matter how tempting it is to have him - all at once Jim finds himself _afraid_. Not afraid, surely not, not Jim Moriarty -

Concerned, perhaps. Mustn't lose his touch, and so, even though a strange sort of feeling that comes dangerously close to hurt hits him - he finally leans back and lays his hands on Sebastian's chest and pushes him away, despite his strength being nothing against him.

"Get off. I have work to do."

* * *

PS - Sorry about the shoddy editing. I know there are occasional jumps in tense used.. and probably plenty of typos and suchlike. This has been written through exchange of emails and speed-edited by me and we have no beta, so sorry. If anyone fancied beta reading this, actually, that would be very cool.

PPS - There is more already written, it's just that editing it from emails is an effort.

PPPS - Can also be found on AO3 under the same title.


End file.
